Spirit Dance (USUK IrelandxIsleOfMan)
by Idris Grim
Summary: England has a dream of a bittersweet meeting long ago... (in a galaxy far far away. lol JK)


Okay, hi I created this account on a whim. So I could publish this fic. There's a bit of a story with this you see... Last year I wrote this for an English assessment in my school. My English teacher (who is very posh and a bit uptight(litteral broom up her ass)) searched up Hetalia and commented on the side "I checked it out, interesting concept. you took this idea and made it you own." I have made another Hetalian (your welcome)

 **Spirit Dance**

A moon lit clearing, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Two men sat on a fallen log, one white haired and whiskered the other much younger with dirty blonde hair.

"So, Arthur. How are tings with you?" asked whiskers pulling out a well-loved pipe from his tatty waist coat pocket. He had a soft west coast Irish accent and his shabby clothes where stained with peat.

"I should be asking you that Aody mate." Arthur replied pityingly. "You do understand what will happen to you if your government go through with this?" He continued angrily, pulling his face out of his hands and turning to face the ancient man next to him. His green eyes blazing with contained anger and lips pressed into a thin line until they were almost invisible.

"Ya see? Dis is why I don't like ya England." Aody stated calmly, leaning back against another tree whilst watching the sweet smelling smoke from his pipe slowly curl up to the stars. "Yer always tinking about yer self but not yer people..."he exhaled and took a long draw from his pipe before continuing. "I don't want ta leave..." He said with a longing sparkle in his green eyes. "But ...It's what my people thinks the best ting to do at da moment. And it's my duty to as the personification of Ireland to serve me people." He said nodding to himself.

The man named Arthur or 'England' sighed, crossed his legs and straightened his smart mossy-green tweed jacket. "Fine whatever, I'm not here to argue with you... In fact why am I here? What did you want to tell me, other than your willingly going to your grave?" England questioned, he shifted to be more comfortable and ran his fingers through his unruly hair.

A mild breeze picked up signifying Aody's mood had changed, although he hadn't moved an inch. Arms and legs crossed, eyes shut and a smoking pipe hanging from his rough lips. He looked as if he'd fallen asleep. "Ah yes, about that. Half o' me wants to stay in da family half o' me wants to become independent. I want ya to look after the North. Take 'im in for me." Aody suddenly proclaimed.

"Um... Well... Oh, all right then. I don't see any harm in it..." Arthur replied grudgingly.

Ireland nodded to himself again and extended his calloused hand to England. They shook then Ireland grabbed his stick that was propped up on the log and (with a great effort) hauled himself to his feet. He hobbled a few meters into the woods, until he reached a delicate tree with long nimble branches. If you squinted your eyes it looked like a beautiful unearthly woman. "Tá mé ar mo bhealach (I'm on my way)." He whispered to her. She seemed to shift and smile in the breeze.

"Uncle? What are you doing?" Arthur asked curiously

"Huh, you just watch Artie." Aody said sadly.

"Oh by the way, I hear America's beautiful at this time of year..." Ireland hinted playfully.

England stuttered objections and a pink blush dusted his cheeks. A raged sooty-coloured cloud rolled in front of the pale moon, throwing a blanket of shadow across the Irish forest. By the time the moon regained its dominance in the sky Aody had disappeared. In his place was a man that looked around Arthur's age, he had the same piercing green eyes as Aody. But he had messy orange hair that was held down by a worn woollen cap. There was also a beautiful woman, dressed in a floor-length green dress with floaty waist length red hair and shimmering orange eyes. They both had a pearly complexion in the moonlight, almost glowing, unearthly.

"Wh-Who are you?!" Arthur demanded.

"Ya don't recognise us Artie? Why it's me Aody and Feena! Ireland and the Isle of Man, she'll take me to the other side! She's the keeper of keys!" Aody yelled from within the forest.

"Right, ok then!" Arthur yelled back puzzled.

"Well, slán (goodbye) then laddie!" Ireland shouted light heartedly. He linked hands with Feena and started to stroll away into the dark of the forest.

"Beannacht fear d'aois (Goodbye old man)." Arthur muttered under his breath, as the two figures disappeared into the murky twilight.

Arthur suddenly jolted awake, covered in a sheen of sweat. "Why dream about that? That happened a long time ago." He asked himself, his voice wavering. He reached up to rub his bleary eyes to find his cheeks wet from tears.

"Iggy, dude! Why are you crying?!" An obnoxious American voice called from the doorway. "Seriously dude, are you ok?" the American asked more tenderly this time, shutting the door behind him.

"Why are YOU here? And yes you idiot!" Arthur screeched indignantly, curling up into a ball and hiding his face. He then felt the bed sink to the left, a hand lifted up his chin.

"Why are you crying?" He asked, his voice laced with worry. America had beautiful eyes, innocent and bright blue like the morning sky. The two where so close then...

Suddenly Alwen or 'Wales' burst through the door yelling something about poor funding, and how his 'dragons' were getting 'out of control'. But lets just say neither England or America heard. They where busy...


End file.
